


near saturation levels

by brawlite



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - College/University, Chronic Illness, Empathy needed, Employer-employee relationship, Geniuses being idiots, M/M, Money management problems, More familiar characters to come, Now with fifty percent more coffee shops, Personal assistants are underrated, Rating to change in later chapters most likely, Slow Build, Stupid misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Wanted: Part Time Personal Assistant.</i>"   It's the exact job that Newton never wanted and just the kind of job he'd be awful at, but he's <i>really</i> pressed for cash this semester. Whatever -- he'll cater to an old, stingy professor in a wheelchair. What he's not prepared for, however, is Hermann Gottlieb, the cane-wielding student his own age with a biting tongue and angles to kill for. Of course, they immediately hit it off just <i>great</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

With an unabashed grimace, Newt sipped at his coffee, trying not to slosh the quickly-cooling liquid all over his face as he stumbled his way across the quad. It was unreasonably cold outside for still being autumn and the grass, crusted with frost, crunched pleasantly beneath his feet. It was _cold_ , and the coffee wasn't helping the way it was supposed to. It wasn't like Newt had the money for a proper winter coat, despite the fact that living in Cambridge really did specifically call for one. He wrapped himself in layers that morning: shrugging on two shirts and a sweatshirt, tugging a leather jacket on over that, finishing with a mismatched scarf in an poor attempt to shield his neck from the biting wind. He hadn't managed to nick a forgotten hat from the campus library yet, but he was hoping he would _soon_ , because goddamn, his ears were _freezing,_ if they were even still attached to his head -- he couldn't tell. 

To be fair to his coffee for not warming him as significantly as it should have been, Nalgene bottles weren't really conducive to retaining heat. But the bottles _had_ been free at the club fair at the beginning of the year, and unfortunately no one had been keen on handing out travel thermoses during the summer. Also: expensive. And it wasn't like he was slowly poisoning himself or anything by putting hot liquid into a plastic bottle -- he had checked. The polyethylene was good for temperatures up to 120 Celsius, and there was no chance in hell that the coffee from the cafeteria ever reached boiling, much less went over it. Sure, he could have gotten a coffee at the nearby coffee shop, but those were at least two bucks a pop for something basic and he didn't have the disposable cash for that. He did, however, have a meal plan that provided free beverages and no one normally yelled at him if he filled up his Nalgene bottle with coffee straight from the carafe. Occasionally, if Newt wasn't feeling the pressing need for a hit of caffeine, he went with hot chocolate. And, if he was feeling _really_ crazy, he got both, mixing himself a nice, cheap mocha. It was great (decent) and cheap (free).

Braving the cold for another sip of coffee, with only minimal spillage on his hoodie, he quickly tucked his face back into his scarf and picked up his pace. He had to get to Genetic Neurobiology before all of the really great seats were taken and he was stuck next  to the window, feeling cold in an ancient classroom with poor insulation for over an hour. 

The trek to the building was muscle memory at this point. It was kind of a homing instinct, really, and Newt was simply a wayward pigeon, guided by magnetic fields. From the cafeteria, from his shitty apartment, from the science library: all routes, if Newt wasn't paying attention, lead to the Biology complex. He was greeted this time, unsurprisingly, by the familiar scent of formaldehyde tainting the air within a hundred meters of the building. It tended to seep through the cracks of some of the labs and permeate the air outside the building on select days. Luckily, Newt liked the smell just as much as he enjoyed the smell of antiseptic or ammonia. 

He pushed his way into the building, wrestling a bit with the crowd of students leaving from other classes. He bypassed the main open stairway and made for the stairwell on the far end of the building -- hardly ever used and much faster, though less-aesthetically pleasing. Nearly knocking into a mixed group of students and professors standing and waiting for the elevator, talking something heated and fierce about _fluid dynamics_ and _predictive modeling_ , he slipped into the stairwell and marched up the three flights that deposited him directly outside his classroom. By the time he plopped down in a seat in the front-middle of the classroom, he was overheated and sweating. It was a nice change, really, and it was punctuated perfectly with a sip of his now-cold coffee. It would only be a matter of time before he grew cold again, and then would have to face the frigid air once more. He mentally scheduled in some time at the lab to work on one of his thesis projects (he had a couple going, because he couldn't focus in just _one --_ thesis, anyway, not to mention project) before he braved the cold.

After a few moments spent puttering away at his tablet, the professor filed in and began the lecture, and Newt was left enthralled by gene expression patterns. Two of his peers headed a presentation and  a decently run discussion about genetic analysis of membrane excitability, and while it was pretty well researched, Newt was a little disappointed to find that they had left out some _really_ key points -- points that he felt compelled to correct them on, and then expand upon extensively, in the discussion. It wasn't like Newt didn't know that he tended to take the baton and run with it when it came to group discussions, peer-reviews, or any other situation that let him open his mouth, but he was highly informed and well educated and he was only furthering the Socratic method by challenging his peers. Which was maybe why he had few friends in his field. He only ever noticed his lack of friendly banter after leaving lectures or discussions, when he really felt the need to hash things out with a friendly face. 

Once the class finished, Newt downed the last of his cold coffee and haphazardly shoved all of his things into his messenger bag for the short shuffle downstairs to the lab. He had a few quick tests he wanted to get started before he left for the day. A plan, of course, that lead to Newton looking up hours later to the clock on the drab wall of the lab and grimacing. The clock was kind enough to inform him both that it was definitely dark outside by that point in time and also that the cafeteria had closed for the night an hour previously. Ramen for dinner it was, he decided, as he put away all of his equipment and bundled himself for the cold. On the way out of the building he stopped by the lobby to check for the school paper -- Tendo, one of his few friends and journalism major, was meant to have an article in it, front page. He nabbed one, lucky that there were some left, and stuffed it into his bag, not worrying about a few creases.

The walk back to his apartment building was quick and chilly -- it passed in a blur of visible breath fogging up his glasses and the sharp pain of a cold nose. Once inside, Newt closed the door behind himself and breathed a moderate sigh of relief. His apartment was definitely shielded from the elements, the biting wind and the inevitable cold autumn rain, but he didn't currently have the funds to warrant turning the heat on yet. If anything, he really had to save up for when it actually started snowing and there was the potential he'd wake up with blue around his fingertips. So, for now he kicked off his boots, shuffled into slippers, and wrapped a fleece blanket around his shoulders. 

A half hour later had Newt slurping from a bowl of mediocre spicy noodles, campus newspaper spread out on the trunk he was using as a coffee table. Tendo's article had been good -- about the various options for MIT to consider in the effort to divest from fossil fuels. But he had finished with it fairly quickly and had poured over the rest of the paper with only moderate enthusiasm. He picked up his bowl of noodles and downed the last of the broth, only to look down at the paper with curiosity. Some broth must have spilled over the sides of his bowl when it had been too full and it had left a ring in the paper around an ad in the corner of the page.

Now, classifieds weren't normally Newt's deal, but something about the clipped language of the ad caught his eye. He set the bowl down to the side and pulled the soup-ringed paper closer, squinting at it with interest.

> ** Wanted - Part Time Personal Assistant **
> 
> Responsible, dependable, physically able individual   
>  Available for personal assistance to sufferer of MS   
> Needed: book/equipment carrying, errand running   
> MIT Campus | inquiries:hgottlieb@mit.edu | $3.5/hr

Oh _damn_. 

That sounded right up his alley. Well, at least in the way of some disposable income, at least.


	2. ii.

Newt's tablet was in his hands before he could even think about it. Sure, the money wasn't _great_ , but it was still _something_ , and that was better than nothing. It was definitely at least a pair of gloves and maybe a hat, and for what? Carting around some books for an old professor for a couple of hours? Easy peasy. And fine, Newton wasn't necessarily known for his people skills, but he could manage and make it work. Mostly, he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, even if it was around authority figures. But he could be charming if he wanted to, and he had the added bonus of actual intelligence, which came in handy in a university setting. 

He flipped open the email, and after a couple tries (formal? informal? should he punctuate and capitalize or should he be super chill and laid back? did he need to send a resume?) he ended up with something bearable, if he squinted. 

> ** to: hgottlieb@mit.edu **  
> ** from: ngeiszler@mit.edu **  
> Hey,  
>  Saw your ad in the _The Tech_ and was wondering if you were still looking to fill the position. I'm a student and I fit all the stated criteria in your posting.  Get at me if you need/want my resume or anything.   
>  Newt

So, it wasn't a masterpiece of literature -- or even reminiscent of a good cover letter, but it wasn't really a run-of-the-mill job posting either. It wasn't like Newt didn't know what he was doing when it came to being professional -- he'd been a research assistant in some pretty high-tech labs more times than he could count on one hand, and he didn't even have his doctorates yet. He had a pretty packed resume with _publications_ on it, a page of references, and he could play at sounding like a reasonable human being. But this was different, and he figured if he approached it too over-eagerly, he'd sound way needy and overachieving when he really just needed the money.  

He stared at the screen of his tablet for a good thirty seconds, willing a reply to materialize instantaneously from absolutely nowhere. But that was _stupid_ , because it was late at night and this guy was probably already in bed, given what Newt had assumed about him. Ugh. The incessant need for instant gratification grated at him for a moment before he switched the device off, put away his soup bowl, and crawled under a nest of blankets for the night on his futon. If he was lucky, temperatures wouldn't drop too low and he'd wake up still able to feel his toes. 

\-- 

"You've got to be kidding me." 

Newt snatched the paper back from Tendo with a playful snarl, cradling it close to his chest. "Common, man. It's perfect. It's just what I need." He sloshed the ice around in his plastic dining-hall cup, watching it mix with his blue sugary drink. _Power Punch_ it was called, but it tasted less like punch than it did of just sugar mixed with water.

"Sure, it's a means to an end in the money department," Tendo drawled, pointing his fork in Newt's direction, "But is it really a _you_ job? You're not the most amiable person I've ever met, nor the most attentive when it comes to anything other than your experiments. No disrespect, man, but that's how it is."

A roll of his shoulders was Newt's answer before took a large bite of pizza. Eating cafeteria food every day of the week wasn't exactly doing _wonders_ for his diet, but whatever. The salad bar was just _fine,_ but eating leaves like a rabbit every day was real boring. He was definitely more capable of eating pizza and hamburgers like they were gulps of fresh air. He always made sure to stick some tomatoes and mushrooms on his greasy foods, just to keep up his vitamin intake. That worked, right? 

Still half-chewing, Newt spoke, "What, so I play butler to a stingy old professor in a wheelchair for a few weeks? I don't really need _people skills_ for that, dude. You know what I ate for dinner last night? _Instant noodles_. That's, like, the third time this week."

With a snort, Tendo finished off his noodles. "You need people skills to charm the man into wanting to keep you on for more than _one_ hour. You did actually read the posting, right? You're going to have to put in a lot of hours with this guy if you want to make anything more than pocket change, which means you need to be at least a little bit personable, my man." 

"I'm _personable_." Newton couldn't keep the pout from his voice -- or from his lips, for that matter. 

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one before, followed closely with the sound of you getting slapped in the face. I'll be waiting for you to show up at my doorstep with a black eye because Professor X didn't like the way you reduced his disease into a numbers game. And don't give me that look," Tendo smacked Newt on the back with a friendly gesture, ending it with a bit of a rub of the other man's shoulders, "You've already done your research, I know you have. Good for you, just -- do me a favor and try not to embarrass yourself, alright? Or make the poor sap uncomfortable."

Tendo was awarded another eye-roll for his efforts, though Newt at least had been listening that time. It wasn't like he didn't get it, because he really did. He _knew_ his shortcomings in the empathy department, but no matter what he did to combat it he always ended up with his foot in his mouth anyway. But -- Tendo was right. This was actually important, provided the guy emailed him back in the first place. It was some money and that would mean he could afford some warmer clothes and maybe to turn his heat on more often this winter. Because _god_ last winter had been unbearable. It was also about being able to do it, to show himself (and maybe rub it in Tendo's face) that he was perfectly capable of normal human interaction without rubbing someone the wrong way. Yeah, Newt was going to actively _try_ this time. And by god, he was going to totally _wreck_ it.

After lunch they parted ways -- Tendo heading back to his apartment and Newton to the science library. He couldn't keep himself from compulsively checking his phone every couple minutes, refreshing his email like a loser every time. God, he hadn't been this _attentive_ since his last failed relationship -- checking his phone every minute for texts he knew he was never going to receive, calls he didn't deserve. After a second of self-indulgent, pitiful reminiscing, he shook himself out of it and climbed the stairs of the library to the top floor. People tended to prefer the first floor because it was easy to get to and the tables were larger for group meetings, but it was also much more crowded. The top floor had these neat little window nooks that Newt could cozy himself up in for hours -- and the view of the Charles river wasn't so bad either. Sometimes, if he was lucky, it'd be a nice enough day and there'd be boats out, puttering around the water; it provided a great distraction for when his brain needed a break.

After getting cozy, he threw his tablet on the desk and started in on one of his theses. Sure, maybe it wasn't a great idea to be doing a few at a time, but he lost interest in things _fast_ and he had the motivation, so why not go for it? He liked to stay busy and he really didn't sleep much, so it was only obvious what he should be doing with his time. His academic advisor had at first objected until she had actually gotten to know Newt -- then she relented, her only demand being that Newt apply for another, secondary advisor, because he was a bit of a handful. Well. Maybe not her _exact_ words, but it was the gist of it, anyway.

Neural connectivity,  however, as _fascinating_ as it was, could only entertain Newt for so long.  Eventually his head was hurting from concentrating on one thing too hard and he had to take a break. He yawned, stretched, and balanced his chair back, looking around him for a moment before he settled on a plan of action. The top floor was only littered with a few students, so he felt safe leaving his detritus in his little nook for the two minutes it took to run down the stairs and grab a magazine off the shelf by the door. To give his mind a little bit of a recess, he decided to indulge in a bit of a change of pace. He picked up a copy of  NASA's _Spinoff_ , which was a publication featuring technology made available to the public. It was the previous year's copy, but it was still fun to look through, just for a refresher on where some _really neat_ things had come from. And, of course, what really cool gadgets he could never afford to buy, but loved to drool over anyway.

He slid back into his chair and set the magazine down, only to be surprised by the soft ping of a notification from his tablet. Spam? _Please don't be spam. Please don't be spam_. Because if Newt got another email about how to enlarge his junk to fully satisfy the partner he _didn't have_ while he was waiting for a Very Important Email, he was going to throw something expensive. And he didn't have the money to afford such Hulk-like tendencies.

That being said, he nearly squeaked when he saw he had an unread email on his school account from "hgottlieb@mit.edu." _Holy shit, yes._  

> ** to: ngeiszler@mit.edu **  
> ** from: hgottlieb@mit.edu **  
> Mr. Geiszler,  
> I am indeed still looking to fill the position for which I put out the ad in _The Tech_. As I have obtained no other inquiries as of yet and the need is fairly pressing, I believe you are the most qualified candidate and I would be appreciative if you accepted the position readily.  
>  I'm afraid I feel I should take this opportunity to divulge that your work is not unknown to me. You coauthored a chapter on Axon Pathfinding in last quarter's issue of _The Journal of Neurobiology_ that I found fascinating. I hope this interest will not conversely affect your interest int his position.  
> Please inform me at your earliest convenience if you continue to be interested in this opportunity.   
> Sincerely,  
> Hermann Gottlieb

Newt practically covered his face with his own hands in sheer joy, unable to contain himself. One: _Yes_. Fuck yes. Two, This guy, Hermann,  _knew_ him, or at least had read something he'd written. And oh _man_ , was that awesome. And three? This guy sounded like the stuffiest professor  _ever_ and Newt already could feel the little crush-on-teacher coming on. This was going to be  _epic_. He could barely refrain from keyboard-mashing as he emailed the guy back, over-eager and puppy-friendly.

Twenty minutes later, Newt had a reminder set on his phone for ten a.m. sharp: he had a meeting with Gottlieb at the on campus coffee shop to meet and set up details.


	3. iii.

"You, my man, are going to be just fine." Tendo popped a breakfast potato into his mouth and grimaced a little at the lack of taste. "And when you've got the cash to spare, we're going out for _real_ food, because _this_ ," he used his fork to gesture at the potatoes on his multi-colored plastic plate, "Is criminal." 

Newt had forgone the hot breakfast entirely, his stomach cringing and curling into knots at the thought of food. Why on _earth_ was he nervous? It wasn't like he had any reason to be. He had walked into countless labs for too many internships to remember without a care in the world, not giving one iota of fucks about what anyone thought about him or what kind of impression he was going to make. But now, he was a mess: practically picking at the sort-of-stale cereal, downing coffee like he was dying of thirst, staring at Tendo like he was some sort of lifeline. 

"He knows my work, dude. What if he's in my _field?_ No, fuck, he couldn't be. I know all of the bio and chem teachers. _Fuck,_ dude. What if he's some, like, really important trustee? Maybe he's not even a professor at all and he's way high up on the food chain here? He could be in charge of giving me _grants_ in a year or two!" With that thought chain spiraling off into the abyss, he crumpled down against the table, arms covering his head. "I'm fucked."  

"You'll be fine."

A muffled groan. "He's going to hate me." Newt wasn't comfortable with anonymity. He never made good first impressions and he had absolutely no way of mentally preparing himself at all, other than to take Tendo's advice and try his absolute hardest to not mention anything about the guy's disease.

Tendo was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Everyone hates you. Even _I_ hate you sometimes." He reached over and squeezed the biologist's shoulder. "But you're a good guy and I know you've got this. So stop stressing and eat your Lucky Charms." 

And so Newt did.

On the way out of the dining hall, Tendo turned and grabbed his friend before the shorter man could shimmy his way to the coffee place. "I forgot to mention, man, I have a date tonight, so I'm going to have to bail on Karaoke Wednesday."

With no real intent behind it, Newt made a distraught face at Tendo, slapping his hands away with a dramatic flair. "If I die of loneliness, it's your fault." It was probably for the best, because Newt'd gotten a little tired (and increasingly ashamed) of occasionally bumming money off his friends for their weekly night of fun. It had become a cherished routine for all of them to go off campus to the karaoke bar and let off some steam with two dollar margaritas pitchers and laughing at each other's really crappy singing. But usually by Thursday morning, Newt regretted the cheap hangover and his lack of funds for the rest of the week. Financially, he just couldn't keep pushing himself back like that. But, hey, maybe after he got some extra spending money, he'd be able to enjoy that shitty hangover a little bit more. 

With a brief hug, lunch was over and unfortunately Newt was left without anything to occupy his time until his meeting. All of his classes were later and he wasn't behind on any of his work, so he found himself simply walking to the coffee shop to be, surprisingly, _early._

Newt, as a general rule, wasn't early for _anything_. It wasn't like he was morally opposed, or anything, but he always seemed to get distracted by something or another until he was at least half an hour late and running into things at the last minute, panting and apologizing and getting annoyed stares all around. And, honestly, he probably would have done the same for his meeting with Gottlieb, had it not been for Tendo insisting on meeting for breakfast. On hindsight, that definitely did seem a little suspicious -- so Newt made a mental note to thank the man for looking out for his timeliness later. 

The shop was decently busy. It was a nice place, comfortably lit and well trafficked, but always quiet and calming. There were two rooms full of easily movable tables, a well-stocked pastry display, and they kept hours that catered to college students who didn't have time to sleep. Currently, the back room packed with students and professors alike, stuff strewn out on tables all around. Luck was by his side, though, and Newt spotted a vacant table near to the door. With a huff, he threw his bag onto the table to claim it as his own and made his way up to the counter. Another coffee wouldn't hurt, right? Mostly, his decision was made thanks to the fact that he had some flex money on his account left for the week and it was still cold enough that some mocha sounded right up his alley. 

Fueled with another caffeinated beverage, he settled in at his table, de-jacketing himself with a number of well-synchronized flailing arm motions until he and his belongings were comfortably sprawled out over the table, his territory marked with abandoned winter layers just like everyone else's. He kept his scarf on, as every time the door opened he was buffeted with a cold breeze that was just about as pleasant as necrotizing skin. Well, maybe a _little_ less bad. 

He pulled some headphones on; pushed his neck down, cozying up by covering the lower half of his face in his scarf; and pulled out his tablet to tap away at some research. Maybe sort-of research. Maybe he was brushing up a bit on current developments of axon pathfinding and neural development because he wanted to be able to share any new and interesting developments with the professor. Or really important trustee, because Newt wasn't necessarily ruling that one out. 

Five minutes later had his fingertips drumming nervously on the table, tapping out a beat that was altogether not even reminiscent of the rhythm thumping out from his headphones. What was he supposed to _say_ to this guy? He was obviously smart, and clearly educated in Newt's fields. He was pretty positive that if this guy was an English professor, there wouldn't be an ounce of nervousness floating around in his system at all. 

Ten had his legs bouncing enough to rattle the table. He didn't even know what this guy _looked_ like.

Fifteen, had his mocha rather uncomfortably cool. God, this was why he was never early to things in the first place. He had no time to worry about being social -- he just cruised in and got shit taken care of. But now, there was way too much waiting and Newt was pretty sure he hated it 

A cough, during a lull in his music, startled Newt nearly out of his chair. He pulled his headphones down around his neck and quickly turned toward the direction of the noise. A rather impatient looking guy his own age was glaring at him, looking a good deal as if that cough had not been the first time he had tried to alert Newt to his presence. 

"Oh, fuck, sorry -- how long were you standing there even?" He flipped his music off so it wasn't pounding in his ears, giving grumpy a once over. Honestly, he looked like an English major straight out of Cambridge -- sweater-vest, oxfords, and enough angles on his face to cut a man. He was _adorable_ , or would have been much more so if he didn't actively look like he was offended at Newt's entire existence. 

"Two minutes and twenty seconds, roughly." Sweater-vest spoke, and Newt nearly died. The accent was the perfect icing on the cake to his image and Newt couldn't have been more pleased, though that feeling faded rather quickly at the realization that he didn't have _time_ to try to charm the pants off Mr. Cambridge-Attitude, because he was waiting for someone. Newt was actually here with a _purpose._  

"Fuck. Sorry, dude. But, uh, this table is taken." His eyes scanned the crowded shop and unfortunately didn't land on any empty tables. "Clearly. By me." He waved his arms over his sprawling mess with a bit of a grin, not actively _trying_ to sound sarcastic, but probably succeeding anyway. "Look, I'd offer you a place to sit, but I'm kinda waiting for someone." 

The guy took a measured breath, his eyes closed, as if appealing to the greater powers for a bit of strength to get him through this particular social interaction -- it was a gesture Newt was well acquainted with. People did that a lot around him. "I'm also here to meet someone." And, when that didn't pull anything resembling recognition  from Newt, the man sighed, put upon, and continued with, "You are Newton Geiszler, are you not?"  

Newt startled, his eyebrows furrowing and raising at the same time, trying to _place_ this guy's face. He had to have met him in a class or at a symposium or during an internship or _something._ Because Newt? Newt was good with faces. Social interaction as a whole was more a flip of a coin, but he never forgot a face. "Uh. Yeah?" 

British Manners looked like he was about ready to turn on his heel and walk right out of the shop before he spoke again, "I am Hermann Gottlieb. You responded to my classified ad." 

Oh.

Wait, what? Newt spent a little too long looking dumbfounded, gears working in his head like someone had poured molasses all over them. 

 _Oooh._  

" _You're_ Hermann Gottlieb?" 

That earned him another sigh, which admittedly was totally and completely fair. "Yes. I see no reason to lie about who I am." Which sounded a lot, to Newt, like _I don't ever make jokes, how dare you insinuate that I might be kidding_. "May I sit?" Gottlieb palmed the back of the chair across from Newt, looking very much like he didn't want to sit at all and would have much preferred simply leaving. Immediately. Five minutes previous. 

Newt nodded and pushed the chair out with his foot at the same time that Hermann pulled. For a split second, Newt envisioned disaster, but Hermann rebalanced himself with his _cane_ and sat without preamble. Oh god, how could Newt not have noticed the cane? He stared at it, balanced against Hermann's chair without fuss, feeling pretty idiotic. Sure, fine: he'd admit that he definitely had had _preconceptions_ about what Hermann Gottlieb was going to be like. And most of those might have envisioned someone in a wheelchair. And most of them might have pegged the man at over fifty, teetering closer to seventy. And maybe he felt a little bad about it. Maybe. Maybe a lot. 

No matter what, he hadn't been expecting a stiflingly grumpy and angular Brit who happened to be a student, just like him, judging by the bag the guy was carrying around. Nor had expected him to be kind of _attractive._ But only kind of. 

"Hi." Was just about all Newt could manage, trying to get past the set of Hermann's frown. 

Content to absolutely ignore Newt's admittedly inane greeting, Hermann began shuffling through his bag, pulling out a paper in record time. "I have drafted an agreement. If you would kindly review it," He pushed the paper closer to Newt, though its progress across the table was hindered by Newt's spread of belongings. 

"Uh, sure, man. But, it'd probably be better if you just gave me a quick one-two about what you want. I do better hashing things out verbally, you know?" By the looks of: no, he didn't know. 

Regardless, Hermann seemed to acquiesce. "As you can see, I have limited mobility." He gestured to his cane. "I do not necessarily _need_ assistance at all times, as I have been managing fine alone thus-far, but the winter months are limiting to my stamina. I have a number of classes that require a good deal of books as well as projects that require equipment that I am ill-equipped to transport myself. You would carry anything needed for me." Newt just nodded. "I occasionally have errands that need to be run when I am not capable." Another nod. "And," Hermann sighed, as if didn't particularly even like the last criteria, "The walkways on campus are prone to icing over in the winter. Additional balance is sometimes required." Newt nodded, trying to keep back a grin at Hermann's very careful phrasing. The man clearly didn't want to admit to having to _lean_ on someone for balance and stability, and Newt kind of appreciated the roundabout language of it. He could dig.

"Yeah, man, I'm totally down. As long as I don't have class, I am at your disposal." Newt bit down on his own lip to keep from making a joke, because that was how he made himself comfortable in situations he felt were teetering close to awkward.

"Please sign the form, then." 

And Newt did, barely glancing the thing over, but already trusting that he _probably_ wasn't signing over his soul and his firstborn to Hermann, who probably was more concerned about liability issues anyway. He handed the form back with what he hoped was a friendly grin, only to get an already familiar look of resigned, but grumpy indifference back.  

For a moment, Hermann looked conflicted. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he spoke, "You weren't expecting me."

It took Newt a moment to process what Hermann was getting at, because of course he was expecting the man. They had agreed to meet at the coffee shop at that specific time. But -- Newt nearly audibly voiced the _ooh_ that his lips shaped to, before he tried to hastily bite back on his embarrassment. "Yeah, um. No -- I wasn't." He swallowed quickly, face flushing uncomfortably red and warm. "I was kind of expecting a professor. Maybe -- uh…in a wheelchair?" Full honesty, because clearly Hermann was smart. Very smart, from the looks of the brief glances Newt had gotten at the books the man had in his bag. And his taste in scientific journals. "Definitely not someone around my age." He smiled again, nervously running a hand through his hair. "No one my age is interested in axon pathfinding anyway." It would be kind of hard to be, since generally anyone Newt's age was still mucking about in intro bio classes, opposed to writing multiple theses.  

"Ah." Hermann looked ruffled, little disgruntled and unsure. "Well. I am most decidedly not wheelchair ridden at this point in my life. I would appreciate it, in the future, if you would consider not making assumptions about me based upon a decidedly paltry amount of information." To which, Newt just nodded, hearing the click in his throat as he swallowed, stunned into silence and embarrassment. And Hermann didn't even give him time to try to come up with an excuse, which was probably for the best, in the end.

"I have class in the Ford building. You will carry my books and, along with this meeting, we will count it as your first hour. I will pay you ever Friday in cash. Is that acceptable?" Newt resorted to nodding, packing away his things pretty quietly, a little mollified by Hermann's tone. And here he had been hoping he _might_ not offend the guy. There was _that_ idea down the drain. 

Newt would have bet ten dollars (that he didn't have) that that little fact was explicitly stated in the contract, but he supposed it was kind of nice that Hermann articulated it for him anyway. Because, _yeah_ , he hadn't seen that. But he'd also only really looked at the page to confirm that there were indeed words on it before he signed, so. After shrugging his jacket on when Hermann rose, Newt grabbed his own haphazardly packed backpack followed by Hermann's, carrying one bag on each shoulder. 

"Onward and upward, my man."  Attempting to gain back a little of his honor, Newt gestured to the door in a sort of bow and tossed his cup in the trash, all in one fluid motion.

Without  a word, Hermann hobbled to the doorway without a backward glance and Newt had to stumble a bit to catch up with him. "Oh, hey, woah, you're _speedy."_ Because Hermann was already weaving his way around other students on the crowded sidewalk and Newt was definitely lagging a bit. And, sure, he wasn't really talking _at_ Hermann, but he shouldn't have been so surprised when Hermann turned back to look at Newton with _very_ unimpressed look. 

So, Newt let silence reign for the rest of their walk to Ford.

By the time Newt had made it home that evening, he had: awkwardly exchanged numbers with Hermann; called Tendo with the news that Hermann was a student, disliked Newt immediately, and had still given him the job; spent four hours trying and failing to work on a thesis inbetween classes; and nearly frozen to death after the sun set and it had graciously decided to rain on his walk back. 

But hey, at least he had a job. Sort of.


	4. iv.

The next day, a dreary Wednesday, greeted Newt with a flash of brutal and unmitigated cold. It had seeped into his apartment and was already invading his blanket fortress: layers of sweats and three pairs of socks did nothing to combat it. Luckily, it wasn't the cold that woke him first off, because that was always the worst way to start a day. Instead, it was the dull chime of his phone alarm, alerting him he had to wake up for a lecture. He fumbled with the well-loved piece of tech until it stopped chirping, the offending object tucked underneath him all night, if only because he wasn't about to put his arm out of his blanket-pile for anything other than an absolute emergency.

The one plus about his shitty apartment was that water was free: so, Newt could take a warm shower for as long as the water stayed a decent temperature without worrying about the cost. That fact alone was one of the few things that actually got Newt out of bed in the morning -- and the promise of a few warm classrooms. So, Newt managed to pry himself from his nest, as warm as it was, and soaked himself for twenty minutes, absorbing the heat like a sponge until his fingers were pruny and he felt saturated and exhausted. A great start to the day.

A cold morning called for a really hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, maybe some pancakes or waffles with some sickeningly sweet syrup pure maple syrup -- but that was some expensive dreaming right there and Newt only had fifteen meals a week at the dining hall. So: no breakfast today. He had splurged the day before for his little nerves-induced breakfast peptalk with Tendo, but he couldn't make it a habit. He had two meals a day each week and one extra to spare, and that wasn't counting his sometimes really necessary caffeine fixes to keep him going through long nights. Or, conversely, breakfasts after really long nights.

No breakfast it was. His grumbling stomach would have to wait until lunch.

But he did manage a cozy sweater for the day, dragging it out of a forgotten drawer, which did somehow make everything seem a little bit brighter and better. If anything, it supplied him with some enthusiasm for long enough to manage the chilly trek to the campus. I mean, who _didn’t_ love ugly reindeer sweaters, knitted lovingly in oranges and blues, by a grandmother who couldn’t hear any longer but still _loved_ to talk your ear off. No one, that’s who. Newt puffed out his chest, threw a coat on over his sweater, pulled on his boots, and _braved it_.

He would have run to get himself there faster, maybe, if he was still actually capable of the act. He hadn’t checked since high school, when the practice had been mandated as an act of physical fitness. And that was _years_ ago, when he had been younger than everyone else and awkward enough as it was without having to participate in gym, outmatched by everyone else. Thanks, school, for that one. He settled for a brisk walk, trudging his way along crisp grass and frost-covered cars, neglected until the morning rush for work. His classes started _before_ nine, though, so it was barely after dawn as he plopped himself down in his lecture hall. Early. Surprisingly early.

Newt checked his phone for the time, a little pleased that he managed his 8 AM before the professor had gotten there (or anyone else, for that matter). Early morning classes were the hardest for him, especially during the dark winter, when he often had trouble even pulling himself out of bed. Winter was rough -- he did his best work during the long summer days, basking in the warmth and the sunlight -- or even the promise thereof.  Days that stretched barely eight hours of light were the bane of his existence, leaving him yearning for fifteen, sixteen hours of daylight. But -- he had managed this morning just fine, propelled to class on the easy promise of another day, which was a bit out of the ordinary. Maybe it was the brimming prospect of his new job, and _money_. Yeah, it was definitely the money. He wouldn’t be rolling in it by any means, but even a little bit of “work” a week would help ease any anxiety he had over his financial situation.

With a look around the still empty classroom, and a vague thought about Hermann and his current employment situation floating around in his head, Newt dug out his tablet and set it on his desk. There was something he’d been meaning to do for _ages_ (or, the last couple of days, actually). He poked away at it, pushing away at a smidgen of guilt that crept up at him, feeling a little _nosy_. Hermann had mentioned in his classified ad (personal ad? Newt wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t like he’d replied to some _dating_ ad for someone he’d thought was a professor, anyway) that he suffered from MS. _Multiple Sclerosis_. Now, being a bio major and (probably more-so) a person with a very healthy curiosity about anything that deviated from the “norm” (be it strange addictions, minority-status sexual inclinations, or any and all medical conditions), Newt was all over it. So, he wasn’t _unfamiliar_ with Multiple Sclerosis. He was, in fact, rather well versed in the subject if only because the condition was more common than, say,  Sjögren’s Syndrome. Which, coincidentally, (and maybe he’d tell Hermann about this later) was a condition that mirrored a lot of the symptoms of MS, especially those of the peripheral nervous system. The progression of the condition was vastly different, though, about which Newt breathed a quiet sigh of relief, even though he didn’t really _know_ Hermann yet. 

Which -- **_psh_**. You could totally not know someone and be worried about them at the same time without being creepy. 

Well -- _mildly_ concerned, if anything. 

Or something.

So what if Newt was a little concerned for Hermann’s maybe hypothetical future neurological state? Newt was going to be a _doctor_. Maybe not a _Medicinae Doctor_ , M.D., but he was well on the way to three doctorates in the next year or so and probably, honestly and definitely, more after that in the future. He was totally allowed to have a scientific curiosity in the matter, and he was _definitely_ allowed to have some professional concern. _Professional_ , because this was a job. Because it was also Newton’s field. And not because Newt felt any sort of fondness for someone he _barely_ knew who already looked at Newt like he couldn’t stand another second of his presence. Definitely not. 

Maybe a _tiny_ bit. But, like, totally about the size of a single mitochondrion. And only because Hermann didn’t look really capable of fondness for _anything_ , so Newt’d have to muster up just a little bit, if only to make their working relationship more tolerable than that really awkward walk to Hermann’s class the day previous.

Anyway.

He thumbed his way into a pretty deep-web search of _Multiple Sclerosis_ , just to re-familiarize himself with the condition. Of course, there were many different manifestations of it, as well as possible periods of acute attacks and remissions to consider. It was nearly impossible to say what particular ailments of the disease Hermann suffered from, without actually knowing the guy better. Also, it was probably an invasion of privacy to analyze the way the guy walked to try to determine the degree of spasticity in his limbs. Probably definitely. _But_ \-- if Newt let his mind and his research wander a bit, he was definitely appeased by the guy’s apparent skill in balancing, which meant that he probably wasn’t suffering from any lesions in the cerebellum. _Good_.

More pages flashed across his screen, with Newt devouring every word of them. Most of it was stuff he already knew, information that just needed to be refreshed in his head with a splash of cold water, but he did learn a few interesting little tidbits which he’d store away for later. 

A very quiet blip of a noise from his pocket caught his attention, as well as a blinking in the corner of his screen: both alerting him to a recent email. However, it was that distraction that had him looking up, only to notice that the classroom was not only _full_ , but also that class was in mid-swing. _Oh, fuck_. A brief glance to the clock had him grimacing: he’d zoned out and gotten lost in his little research project for way too long. About thirty minutes too long. Newt just barely managed to hold in a groan of displeasure at himself as he turned his tablet off and slid it back into his bag, content to spend the rest of the class just listening to the discussion opposed to trying to actively participate in something he’d missed half of. There was definitely too high a chance there of repeating something already said or bringing the conversation to a dead stop. The tablet was a godsend, though, because it’d probably looked at least a little bit like he was working, opposed to playing games on Facebook, or something. 

The rest of class passed quickly, perhaps if only for the fact that there was less than half an hour lingering after Newt’d finally managed to pay attention. Feeling a little ashamed, he shrugged himself out of the classroom and made way for the lab, where he spent the next few hours, laboring away at a couple of his projects and just generally getting lost in the work. It wasn’t until he was cleaning up that his phone blipped again with an email. _Fuck._ He’d completely forgotten the first email that had yanked him out of his research spiral in class. Though, chances were it was probably junk, anyway. 

Once he had fully cleaned up his space, he pulled open the most recent email, a smile immediately covering his face once he noticed the sender.

> ** to: ngeiszler@mit.edu **
> 
> ** from: mmori@mit.edu **
> 
> Newt,
> 
> Hello! By the time you read this, I’ll probably be well over the Atlantic Ocean on my way back to Cambridge. I might even be back, knowing how long it takes you to check your email sometimes when you get involved in your work. I haven’t been the most diligent about keeping in touch, but know that I missed you (and everyone else, obviously) very much. It was a rewarding program, of course, and London was charming, but I am very much looking forward to returning to the United States. I fully expect you to take me out for a night of drinking, now that I will be able to keep up.
> 
> See you soon,
> 
> Mako

Newt nearly made a very audible noise of happiness. It had been ages since he’d talked to his _Maks_ , or Mako, and even then it had been a very short skype session before she had to run. Which was totally fair and he didn’t begrudge her one bit because: _Holy shit, Maks, you’re in London; go do all the cool things and tell me about it later!_ Yeah. But he _had_ missed her. Terribly. She’d taken a semester off to do a couple month, really supremely awesome, very selective, humanitarian aid program in England. Which meant, once home in Cambridge, she’d have a couple months off before the spring semester started and Newt’d get some quality time with her then. And, as good friends went, Mako and Tendo were definitely the best -- god only knew how they put up with Newt. 

Figuring she’d text him when she actually arrived in the country (or, after she’d had arrived and then had a long nap), he decided not to reply and to check his other email instead.

Which -- 

Was surprisingly, not junk. 

> ** to: ngeiszler@mit.edu **
> 
> ** from: hgottlieb@mit.edu **
> 
> Mr. Geiszler,
> 
> I have declined to text you for fear of interrupting a lecture. I presume that this email will arrive in time. If not, I will simply text you after most classes are finished for the day. Perhaps a copy of your schedule would be in order for future convenience.
> 
> Your assistance this afternoon would be much appreciated. For the remainder of the day I will be in the Science Library. From there, I will need to drop off graded papers at the Ford building and pick up numerous books. From there, I will require your assistance in returning to my apartment for the evening. Please be by the library by 6 PM.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Hermann Gottlieb

Newt wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the sudden popularity of his inbox. Normally, he only got a couple emails a day and the majority of those were either from journals or blogs he subscribed to or junk about enlarging his junk. These were two honest-to-god emails from Real People in -- well, a few hours. Because he’d forgotten to actually _read_ the one from Hermann. Whoops. But he still had _plenty_ of time after his little jaunt in the lab to pop by the library after grabbing a quick snack.

So, Newt did just that -- he stopped by the dining hall first, all the while chuckling about Hermann’s meticulously formal email. _Mr. Geiszler_. And always with his _sincerely_ ’s. What a ridiculous dude. It was _awesome_. He was going to be an absolute _joy_ to work with, Newt just knew it; he could feel it in his bones. Pizza was the meal of choice (mostly because it was the only thing _left_ early-afternoon post-lunch-rush that was still warm and somewhat portable), so, he paid and folded the slice in half, eating on his way over to the library. Having something to keep him occupied distracted him from the cold, which was always neat, too.

The library had a pretty strict No Food At All, Ever rule (though they didn’t whine about bottled drinks _too_ much, if Newt put on his best puppy-dog face), so he perched himself on a bench outside while he finished the hard crust of the pizza. While he was at it, he shot off a quick, “there in like a sec, literally -newt” text to Hermann, just because he could and the guy would probably appreciate it. 

A few seconds later and he was pushing his way into the library and fighting the very immediate urge to fly upstairs to his usual perch. He had _no_ idea where Hermann was sitting and given the really iffy condition of the elevators, he was definitely probably not anywhere above the ground floor, unless he particularly felt like climbing stairs? Ugh. Maybe he _did_. Newt didn’t _know_ the guy, and he probably shouldn’t judge him. But, given that the dude had asked Newt for help getting around that day, it probably didn’t bode well for his general mobility. Maybe. Well, now that Newt felt like an _asshole_ \--. Oh! He stopped in his tracks and saw the man in question sitting at the farthest table away from the door, bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Like a cat. And, judging by the expression on Hermann’s face, the _grumpiest cat_. 

It was a thought which stopped Newt not at all making his way over to said table and plopping his stuff down right opposite Hermann. “Hey, dude. Fancy seeing you here.”

He was greeted by a frown. “There are plenty of open tables. I was not expecting you until six -- your presence here isn’t strictly necessary.” Hermann glanced back down at the pile of papers that surrounded him, as if he was super in the middle of something and way too busy to talk. Which -- was probably true. And fair. But also didn’t stop Newt from barreling through.

“Yeah, well. I figured I might as well come and get some stuff done, right? We can be _study buddies._ ” Now _that_ earned him a full on scowl, which was totally worth it. “Kidding. But I’m still going to sit right here because it’d be really weird to sit at a different table than you when I know you, kind of. Also, this place gets really crowded around four, and that’d just be kind of a dick move on my part, taking up all that space. So.” Newt pulled out his tablet and put it down decisively in front of him, all the while sliding into the seat across from Hermann. 

Presumably sensing a battle not worth fighting, Hermann simply sighed, “If you must,” and went back to his papers, refocusing whatever miniscule amount of his attention that had been focused on Newt back to his work.

The biologist just hummed and smiled. “I must.” And, for a good five minutes, he buckled down and worked, not bothering Hermann. He was doing such a great job. Honestly, he deserved a medal for how not annoying he was being. But Hermann was an unknown variable to Newt’s constant and the latter _so_ didn’t do well with that. So, he started side-eyeing the man and what he was working on, occasionally letting his eyes stray from his tablet to track the movement of Hermann’s pen.

Hermann was clearly grading something. A lot of somethings.

“Dude, is that about wave-particle systems?” Seven minutes and thirty-some seconds. It was practically a new record. He was actually a little proud of himself. 

Narrowed eyes focused up at Newt, looking none-too-pleased. “For all intents and purposes, graded materials are _confidential._ If you please.” God, even his lip sneered upward when he spoke: Newt thought it was wonderful.

A grin. “You should give me one of those. I totally want to see how I do.” Because Newt _liked_ fluid dynamics, even if he wasn’t studying it. Math was neat, but it wasn’t his thing. And besides, he could only study so many things. 

_Emphatically:_ “No.” 

“Not even going to come up with a reason behind that? Just _No?_ ” Newt smiled broadly, crossing his arms and leaning over the table. A lot of people in his life had described Newt as _excessively friendly_. It wasn’t a bad description.

Hermann sighed, leveling his eyes with Newt’s: once again looking as if the whole ordeal was definitely beneath him. Which, fair. Totally true. There was no reason for them to be friendly, to talk, or to even generally get along, that Newt could think of, other than: _why the fuck not?_ Ugh.

“If you are quiet for the next hour, I will consider it as a part of your working hours.”

And, just like that: quiet was totally on the table.

**Author's Note:**

> title from _they are stone swallowers_ , **the mountain goats**


End file.
